


next time

by katierosefun



Series: Whumptober 2019 [Irondad and Spiderson] [4]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Precious Peter Parker, Protective Peter Parker, Sick Character, Sick Tony Stark, Sickfic, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 11:24:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20965766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katierosefun/pseuds/katierosefun
Summary: “Mr. Stark?” Peter called, his eyes scanning the garage. When he found Tony at the workbench, Peter hurried over. “Why are you in here?”“Working,” Tony replied, forcing himself to stand up. His bones ached at that movement alone, but Tony tried to keep his face neutral as he asked, “What’s up?”“Nothing much,” Peter replied, adjusting his backpack straps over his shoulders, “Um, FRIDAY told me where you were.” He looked down at his phone. “And uh…” He looked back up at Tony, his eyebrows furrowing together. “Are you doing okay?”“Just peachy,” Tony replied just as another stab of pain went through his head. “Couldn’t be better.”“Really.” Peter tilted his head to the side. “Because FRIDAY also told me that you’ve been running a fever since Wednesday.”[or Tony Stark is running a fever, and FRIDAY calls Peter to get Tony out of the garage.]





	next time

Tony knew that he should technically be asleep. He also knew that he should have stopped working about four hours ago, when his headache kicked in, but if he was being honest, he didn’t particularly have the strength to get out of the garage, and there wasn’t anyone waiting for him in the house, anyways. With Morgan at sleepaway camp and Pepper on a retreat with some of the other ladies (being Natasha and Wanda), the house was empty and quiet, and frankly, Tony found an empty garage more soothing than an empty house.

And stuck to the fridge was a laundry list of things that Pepper wanted to remind Tony before she left, anyways. Things like “eat three meals a day” and “sleep at least eight hours” and “take a fifteen minute walk”. Things which Tony promptly forgot about starting on day three.

And day two, Tony had lost his appetite, anyways. Probably because he had the slightest feeling that he was running a fever—FRIDAY had been the one to affirm that during the early hours of day three and suggested medication, but Tony had waved it aside. “It’ll wear off,” Tony had said. “Just the work daze.”

It was the middle of day four now, and that fever had come back with a vengeance, pounding headache and all. Tony slumped against the workbench, resting his forehead against the cool surface as FRIDAY said, “I suggest returning to the house.”

“No,” Tony groaned. “I’m fine.”

“Your vitals suggest otherwise.” There was a moment of silence, and then FRIDAY added, “Additionally, Mr. Parker is waiting at the front door.”

That got Tony to jerk his head up. “What’s he doing here?” he asked. “It’s a school night. Shouldn’t he be working on college essays or something?”

“It is a Friday, so no, it is not a school night,” FRIDAY replied, and Tony could have sworn he heard a detection of annoyance in the AI’s voice.

“Fine, fine,” Tony grumbled, scooting away from the workbench. “I’ll go see—”

“He has already been alerted of your location,” FRIDAY replied just as Peter’s head poked into the garage.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter called, his eyes scanning the garage. When he found Tony at the workbench, Peter hurried over. “Why are you in here?”

“Working,” Tony replied, forcing himself to stand up. His bones ached at that movement alone, but Tony tried to keep his face neutral as he asked, “What’s up?”

“Nothing much,” Peter replied, adjusting his backpack straps over his shoulders, “Um, FRIDAY told me where you were.” He looked down at his phone. “And uh…” He looked back up at Tony, his eyebrows furrowing together. “Are you doing okay?”

“Just peachy,” Tony replied just as another stab of pain went through his head. “Couldn’t be better.”

“Really.” Peter tilted his head to the side. “Because FRIDAY also told me that you’ve been running a fever since Wednesday.”

“Traitor,” Tony grumbled, looking up at the ceiling, but of course, FRIDAY did not respond. With a sigh, he looked back at Peter. “I’m fine, kid. Just a minor work fever. It’ll go away in a few hours.” He waved a hand, let it drop to the work bench when Peter’s brows furrowed together. “Stop looking at me like that, kid—you’re making me nervous.”

“_I’m _nervous,” Peter replied. He slid his phone back into his pocket. “You don’t look good. At all.”

“Thanks,” Tony said, and he meant to laugh, but he was too tired to.

Peter didn’t say anything for a moment. And then, in a quiet voice, he asked, “How long have you been working in here?”

“Didn’t FRIDAY give you that information already?” Tony asked, and he was relieved to find that he had just enough energy to make his sarcasm sound obvious.

Peter frowned. “Morgan went to sleepaway camp Sunday night, right? And Pepper went away on her retreat on Monday.” His eyes widened. “Have you been working in here since Monday night?”

Tony winced at the sudden pitch in Peter’s voice. “You’re going to break glass with that.”

“No,” Peter insisted, “you only think that because you’ve been working down here since _Monday night_.” And then, before Tony could protest, Peter pressed the back of his hand against Tony’s forehead. A part of Tony wanted desperately to jerk away, but Peter’s hand was smooth and cool, and Tony felt a much stronger part of him surrender. Meanwhile, though, Peter’s eyes widened. “Mr. Stark,” he breathed, looking up at Tony. “What were you thinking?”

Peter brought his hand down from Tony’s forehead. “You gotta get out of here,” he said, and he walked around the workbench towards Tony. “Come on—we’re leaving.”

“What—Peter—” Tony started, but his limbs were weak, and Peter’s grip was strong as he tugged him away from the workbench.

“Um, right,” Peter said once they were inside the house. “Shower first, right? Cold shower?” He looked up at Tony, trying to meet his eyes. “Can you do that without slipping?”

“I should be fine,” Tony said, but he only took one step forward before stumbling right back into Peter. To Peter’s credit, the boy didn’t even grunt under the sudden weight. “Okay, maybe this’ll take longer than I thought,” Tony mumbled.

“We’ll worry about that later,” Peter said, adjusting his grip on Tony. “Come on, Mr. Stark.” He wrapped an arm around Tony’s middle, and guiding Tony’s arm over Peter’s shoulders, Peter started down the hallway. “You can get some rest in your room—and I’ll get some cooling compresses. And…” Peter’s voice slowly faded as he looked back up at Tony. “Were you seriously in there since Monday?” he asked.

Peter was hard to look at. His eyes were always wide, but now they were wide and pained, and Tony could only look at them for so long before he would start feeling guilty. “Just lost track of time,” Tony replied. “Happens. Pepper’s usually able to draw me out of it before I spiral.”

Peter pushed open the bedroom door. “That’s not good,” he said quietly. He guided Tony to the bed and slowly disentangling himself from Tony, Peter just said, “Lie down. I’ll be right back.” And with that, Peter left the bedroom, his curly head bowed.

Tony lowered himself into the pillows, but his eyes didn’t drift from the doorframe—not until Peter returned with slightly damp towels and a water bottle. “I’ll raid the medicine cabinet later,” Peter said, kneeling down next to the bed. He handed the water bottle over to Tony. “Figured you’d need this.”

After Tony had finished drinking, Peter laid the compress against Tony’s forehead. “That might help,” he said, sitting back on his heels. “May’s at work right now, but I’ll call her once she’s out. She’ll probably have better ideas at how to help than I do.”

Tony looked up at Peter. The boy’s eyebrows were still furrowed together, his own forehead marred by wrinkles of worry and concentration. And that was when Tony remembered that Peter already had other things to worry about, too.

“How’s the college applications going?” Tony asked.

Peter blinked. “The college—oh, yeah.” He shook his head. “They’re going fine. I’m going to send in my early decision application next week, probably. Won’t hear back until around Christmas, which sucks.” He adjusted the compress on Tony’s forehead. “I’m not too worried about it, though.” As though reading Tony’s mind, he added, “I got all my work done earlier today, too, so I don’t have anything else to think about for the rest of the weekend.”

Tony turned his eyes to the ceiling. And he felt Peter’s eyes on him, those careful, concerned eyes that reminded Tony of a deer.

“You shouldn’t worry about me, either,” Tony said at last, but the words were hard to get out—the mixture of fever and exhaustion was finally starting to catch up to Tony, and now that he was in bed, he could feel his eyelids growing heavy. “I can look after myself.”

“Sometimes you don’t,” Peter said in a small voice, and that was enough to make Tony turn towards Peter.

That also meant that the towel slid off entirely, causing Peter to pick it up and push it back to Tony’s face again. “The message FRIDAY sent me freaked me out,” he said quietly. “I thought that something really bad happened. Like, I’d find you…” Peter’s voice drifted, and Tony could make out just the barest tremble in Peter’s chin as he continued with a forced laugh, “I thought I’d find you passed out or something. Wouldn’t be good.”

Peter started to withdraw his hand from the cooling compress, but Tony caught Peter by the wrist before he could slide away completely.

“Kid,” Tony said, and Peter tried to tug his hand away, but Tony held fast. “Peter.”

Peter looked down at Tony’s hand wrapped around his wrist. “Were you just going to stay in the garage by yourself?” he asked. “Until Pepper and Morgan came back?” He lifted his eyes up at Tony. “Why would you do that?”

Tony swallowed. It hurt to swallow, he realized dully. “Just got lost for a second,” he replied. “It happens.” He became aware of how cool Peter’s skin was against his own warm hand. “You shouldn’t have to see this…me. Like this.”

Peter blew out a breath. “That’s not why I’m upset,” he said, turning his eyes to the ceiling. “It’s just…” Tony watched Peter’s Adam apple bob up and down as he swallowed. “I don’t want you being by yourself when this stuff happens.”

Tony suddenly became aware then of how both old and young Peter was. Age eighteen—both just and not just a boy. Other eighteen-year olds—well, hell, Tony didn’t know what other eighteen year olds were supposed to do, seeing that his eighteenth year was far from normal, too…but Tony had the feeling other eighteen year olds weren’t juggling Peter’s problems.

“You shouldn’t have to worry about me,” Tony said at last. “You’ve got bigger problems on your plate.”

“That’s the thing,” Peter said, his eyes drifting back down to Tony. “When stuff like this happens, I get worried again.” There was something desperate in Peter’s face as he stared at Tony. “So please don’t be alone when shit hits the fan? Please?”

Tony opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked at that look of desperation—still such a boy, and yet not.

“Yeah,” Tony said, and he hoped he’d protect those words for the future. “Next time will be different.”

**Author's Note:**

> Written for whumptober prompt #7, 'isolation'. I'm a little behind, but I really wanted to get this out here.
> 
> As always, reviews/constructive criticism are always greatly appreciated!


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